


Le Nozze dei Caduti

by by_no_one_more_than_me (Lady_Cleo)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: After the Fall, Blood and Injury, Blood and sex, First Time, Injury, Injury Recovery, International Fanworks Day, International Fanworks Day 2019, M/M, Murder Husbands, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 10:49:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17806592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Cleo/pseuds/by_no_one_more_than_me
Summary: What happens to Will and Hannibal after the fall.





	Le Nozze dei Caduti

Chiyoh had collected them in a small boat that was moored down the coast. Fished them out, though Will was too busy being unconscious to appreciate the irony.

They're in a fully stocked house across the bay from Yarmouth by morning. Chiyoh stitches Hannibal up, hands over the keys and leaves.

He hopes he sees her again someday. 

For three days he sits at Will's bedside, checking his wounds, monitoring the IV. He showers once and sponges Will clean everyday.

The fourth morning, he stirs in his chair to find Will blinking at him. They're holding hands. Will's looking, and that first time - when he'd been found in Abigail's hospital room- springs to mind. They're both waiting. Will's lips move, then he swallows and grimaces.

Hannibal offers him one of the bottled waters on hand but the house has a well of cold, clear water, rich with minerals. A covered pitcher nearby holds plenty for refills.

After a few sips through a straw, Will opens his mouth again, voice jagged as a bone china shard. 

"Chiyoh?" The underlying question is clear.

"Yes," Hannibal answers readily, having already silently sworn Will shall have all the honesty he has left.

"The Dragon?"

"Defeated."

There's a long beat as they remember. The thrill of battle, the scent of blood and brimstone on the night breeze, the feel of being in one another's arms. 

Will lifts their tangled fingers. 

"...Us?"

_Honesty, Hannibal. It must be so._

He swallows down a lump of potentially inconvenient emotion. "If you wish it." 

Will doesn't speak another moment, simply traversing Hannibal's knuckles with his thumb. His eyes lock into the other man like a meathook swung at force.

"I do." It's bloody matrimony. All Hannibal needs.

He pulls Will into his arms, mindful of the tubing and bandages.

The first kiss is everything - heat and salt, lightning and pomegranates. The next phase of their mutual becoming.

Every milestone is quickly left behind. It stops being enough almost as soon as it begins. Acknowledgement no longer enough, there must be a kiss. Kissing unsatisfactory, there must be contact. Mere touch is insufficient. They must fuck.

(He is not sure if it would be lovemaking, only that he wants it to be. He will mark it as such, the way he has always claimed Will as his own. From the first.

What the rest of the world thinks matters not.)

Will starts to unsettle in his hold, feeling confined, claustrophobic in his loose loungewear, desperate for skin. Hannibal soothes him, quickly unbuttons his shirt and cuts Will's away, stripping their bottoms off with all possible expediency as he retrieves lubricant and protection. He has barely settled atop the covers when Will smacks the condom out of his hand, and Hannibal looks at him perplexed.

"Just you."

Hannibal almost comes on the spot from the look in those storming orbs.

No matter Will's demanding, Hannibal will  **not**  be savage their first time. Preparation is maddeningly thorough. Those long fingers, so adroit at surgery and cuisine and musical composition and art and death, prove equally deft at slowly working his paramour's body open to receive him, to merge and join and reform. 

They're both breathless by the time he's finally ready.

Someone's popped a stitch somewhere. A few trickles of blood turn the lubricant a lurid pink as Hannibal carefully slicks his cock. It seems... fitting.

He shifts up on his knees before his love, a dominant acolyte, hungry for sacrifice, longing to give of himself. Gathering Will close again, Hannibal aligns them, giving one final check. 

_Last chance._  

Will lowers himself a defiant inch, letting Hannibal brush against him. 

_As you wish, mylimasis._

Moving as fractionally as his lust allows, he draws Will down. Their breathing is harsh, mouths open, air stolen from the other's lungs in gasps. The profiler bears down and -  **there**. Hannibal is fully seated within his love. His memory palace is closed for a holiday.  

Every praise, every curse in every language he has ever known roars in his blood.

The world could burn as long as they don't have to move from this spot, never leave each other's embrace. 

He breathes into the shell of Will's ear. "You feel-" then stops, eyes closing. His mouth shifts up to Will's temple, nosing at sweat-damp curls to tease out every note of the  man's unique perfume. He is at a loss to elucidate. He swallows hard, whatever else he might've said sliding down forgotten. 

Inconsequential anyway, at this point. Will already knows. Perhaps he's always known.

They move in unison, holy harmony and sinful accord. Sliding skin marked by nails and teeth. Seasoned with a peppering of kisses. A love story in bodily fluids. They've already left their seal on one another, branded indelible as all the other scars that tell their history in an arcane alphabet known only to them. 

They have always been together, since time immemorial, are destined to remain so through eternity. 

Now is it tender, now is it harsh. Now soft and agonizingly slow, now brutal and dangerously fast. Now are they flying, now do they fall.

A month later they become murder husbands in name as well as truth at a basilica in Florence, exchanging vows and rings and feasting on shared bites of the  _maleducato_  who spilled champagne on their suits. They leave an invisible trail of blood-soaked footprints branded across the Old World earth in their wake.  

They consume each other's hearts and become gods. They revel in their invulnerability.

Their love never dies.

**Author's Note:**

> Le nozze dei caduti = wedding of the fallen.
> 
> Hope you liked it. You know what to do if you did.


End file.
